


Five (more) times Eliot said “Dammit, Hardison!” and one he didn’t need to

by buriedbybooks



Category: Leverage
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buriedbybooks/pseuds/buriedbybooks
Summary: Eliot has different (and distinctive) ways to say “Dammit, Hardison” as befits the situation.
Relationships: Alec Hardison & Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 15
Kudos: 303





	Five (more) times Eliot said “Dammit, Hardison!” and one he didn’t need to

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this one was harder to write than I expected. I had a few plot bunnies playing hide-and-seek and this was the result of trying to catch them. A couple of them (4 and 5) were inspired by an OT3 prompt list. All of them were self indulgent (who doesn’t want _feelings_???).
> 
> Timeline: the scenes start during the original series, and then continue after. See if you can find the episode-specific references :)

**1.**

It was after Hardison oversold the con and got himself kidnapped by Russians that Eliot seriously pushed to start training the hacker in hand-to-hand combat. The experience had driven home how vulnerable Hardison could be, and that Eliot could not guarantee being there to physically protect him. That meant that Hardison had to learn to defend himself.

At first the hacker had joked about it. “My hands are too valuable, man. I can’t go punching stuff. Who’d do all the typing if I broke something? You?”

Eliot persisted until, finally, Hardison had agreed to learn boxing--with gloves or hand wraps. He had to protect those fingers of his. That was fine. Muscle memory would kick in during a real fight, whether Hardison was wearing gloves or not. And if he learned right, then he would be able to put down an attacker and get away.

Surprisingly, training Hardison turned out to be something that they both enjoyed. Eliot was impressed with how quickly Hardison learned, and that he pushed to get the techniques exactly right. At first Eliot had been sure Hardison wouldn’t take it seriously--because really, the hacker rarely seemed to take _anything_ seriously. But Hardison had obviously decided that Eliot was right, and anything worth doing was worth doing to perfection.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t still annoy Eliot while they worked.

“It’s all that very fine motor skill at work,” Hardison preened when Eliot made the mistake of complimenting the man on executing a check hook.

“You mean you’re tired of getting put on your ass and figured out how to stop it.”

Hardison shrugged good naturedly. “Yeah, man. That too.”

Eliot made sure that the hacker spent time training three or four days a week--both learning technique and combat, but also strengthening and conditioning. The man’s stamina left a lot to be desired.

“How are you out of breath already?” Eliot barked. “We barely started.”

“Come on, man, can’t we just get to the weights and stuff?” Hardison asked, hands on his thighs.

“You’ve only been running for three minutes. Get over it, or I’m going to make you run longer.”

“I see what this is. You’re a sadist. You won’t be happy until I can't talk anymore.” Hardison grumbled as he started running around the track.

Eliot would only admit to himself that he didn’t mind Hardison’s complaints. They were constant chatter and the bickering was a way for them both to let off steam. When Hardison was sincere, that was when Eliot actually liked the hacker. Not that he’d ever tell Hardison that either.

A few months after Eliot started training Hardison, one of their jobs went south. Nate was continuing to spiral with Sophie gone, pushing the entire team to work right on the edge. Eliot knew that Nate was chasing the next victory, the next high, and that something would have to change. Maybe this near-failure was an indication that it was time for him to intervene. Nate had sent them all against a shipping magnate who turned out to also be part of the illegal wildlife trade. The job went to shit when Parker ended up cornered between enforcers and the live cargo. Eliot had gotten her out, but had gotten a concussion and bruised ribs. No one on the team had spoken to Nate in days.

Now, Eliot wanted to return to his routine in Boston. He’d called Hardison, asking the hacker to meet him at the gym, hoping that sparring would help blow off some steam.

When Hardison arrived, Eliot was already in the ring and tossed the other man his gloves. “Get on up here.”

Hardison looked at the gloves in his hand and then back up at Eliot. “I don’t think this is such a good idea, man.”

“Why not?” Eliot demanded. He’d already warmed up, and from the slight sheen of sweat on Hardison’s face, Eliot could tell that the hacker had jogged to the gym so his muscles would be warm.

“Bro, you just had a concussion. And what about your ribs?” Hardison demanded, getting into the ring, but leaning against the ropes with the gloves still in his hand.

Eliot stared at him for a moment. The team usually didn’t ask after his condition, so he hadn’t known that Hardison had noticed.

“I mean, what if I actually hit you, or something?” Hardison continued. “My reach is longer than yours and I’m getting better and stronger. Wouldn’t want to actually do any damage to you, you know?”

Seriously? That’s what the hacker was worried about? “Dammit, Hardison! I know my limits! Ya gotta trust me on that!” Eliot growled. “You couldn’t hurt me if you actually tried!”

Hardison snorted. “A’ight. Now I know you’re fine. Okay, okay. Let’s do this.”

Suppressing a sigh, Eliot took up position in the center of the ring. The damn man never shut up. But at least he had listened and was putting on his gloves.

**2.**

Eliot was glad Sophie was back. The team was more in balance than it had ever been, with everyone having closer to equal say in how jobs were run and Nate as part of the team rather than the absolute head of it. He wasn’t happy that they were going after Moreau. Eliot knew more than the rest of them that Damien Moreau was bad news; the thought of him still got Eliot tied up in knots of rage, guilt, and worry. Keeping the team safe while they went after Moreau likely meant that he’d be called on to do things he hadn’t done in years. Eliot knew this and was resigned. His team came first, before his feelings.

But in the meantime, while they methodically picked off people in Moreau’s network, Eliot found himself growing more and more entrenched in his relationships with his team. He still thought Parker was crazy, and Hardison was annoying, and Sophie was right to delay breaking that tension she had with Nate. But he had come to care about them all, even if he didn’t really say it.

So when Nate brought in a job to expose a man stealing from senior citizens in nursing homes, Eliot was glad for another delay before taking on Moreau. Another case with low risk.

The job was actually pretty simple. Nate and Sophie were going to grift and ensure that the mark was so spooked that he transferred his money. Hardison would be nearby to track it and empty the man’s accounts. Eliot and Parker were assigned to the nursing home to keep an eye on all of the residents. Eliot would be reusing his Dr. Wes Abernathy alias, and Parker would pose as a nurse.

Wire-rimmed glasses on and hair pulled back, Eliot wandered around the social areas of the nursing home, introducing himself to staff and residents that he hadn’t met in his first three days. As long as they were expecting him to be around, they wouldn’t pay attention to exactly where he was at any given time. Walking through a lounge, Eliot saw Parker sitting across from a man at a table, both of them happily scribbling on scraps of paper. That made some of her odd comments over the last hour make a bit more sense. Not complete sense, but more.

Over the comms, Eliot could hear Sophie cornering their mark into transfering the money. It wouldn’t be long now.

“Eliot. Heads up.”

Hardison’s voice interrupted the other conversations Eliot had been listening to. Eliot shot a look at the nearest security camera, knowing that Hardison was likely watching as well as listening.

“What’re you seeing?” Eliot asked, scanning the room. Parker was staring at her paper, hand no longer moving. She was listening as well. Nothing else seemed to be out of place.

“Carson’s assistant is headed back your way. Not sure what her intentions are.”

Eliot looked around the room. It was too quiet. Nothing here would be a distraction.

“Got an idea,” Hardison mumbled. “Give me ten minutes.”

Was Hardison holding something in his mouth when he’d tried to say that? Eliot caught Parker’s eyes, and she gave a minute shrug. Nope. Parker didn’t know either.

Eliot was chatting with one of the real nurses when Hardison sauntered into the room, carrying a laptop under one arm and holding a bag with the other. His expression was far, far too self-satisfied for Eliot’s peace of mind.

Excusing himself from the nurse, Eliot muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the mic in his earbud to pick up, “Don’t oversell, whatever you’re doing.”

“Ya gotta have some faith in me, man.” Hardison raised an eyebrow at him and smirked.

Eliot found himself a wall to prop up, and crossed his arms, watching. Hardison did his thing, entrancing the room with cheerful talk as he set up his computer, and pulled portable speakers out of the bag.

“Now, I know y’all like dancing,” Hardison told the room, smiling at a tiny old lady who had steered her walker over to him and was examining his set up. “May I have the first one?”

And then he turned on some old-timey slow dance music and started gently waltzing the octogenarian around the room.

The other residents started creakily joining in. One man got Parker to agree to dance with him. Eliot stayed as inconspicuous as he could, deciding to just enjoy watching the two of them. Hardison was obviously enjoying himself. Parker… was not reaching for a taser, so that was a good sign.

The dancing had been going on for about ten minutes when Eliot heard the assistant’s voice. Glancing through the doorway, he saw the woman… Cynthia Malloy… trying to avoid a conversation.

Hardison saw it too, and called out to her. “Miss Malloy, come on over here. We haven’t been able to get the doc to dance, but maybe you can!”

Eliot’s head whipped toward Hardison. He hadn’t…! He shot the hacker a glare.

Hardison abandoned his partner into the arms of another dancer and quickly went over to the assistant to steer her into the room and toward Eliot.

“Dammit. Hardison!” Eliot growled just as they got to him.

“Now, he’s a fine dancer, just a bit shy,” Hardison was telling the woman. “Maybe if we put on a waltz?”

Eliot wanted to snarl. He didn’t dance. But they needed the assistant distracted for a little while longer. Cynthia smiled at him, and Eliot pulled his “I’m charming and not dangerous at all” smile out in return.

With the assistant in his arms, moving slowly to the music, and surrounded by the residents, Eliot was able to glare at Hardison. And Parker, who was standing next to the hacker and grinning from ear to ear.

“Boom, baby,” Hardison’s voice gloated over the comms.

He was a dead man, Eliot decided.

**3.**

Getting hit by a carnival ride did damage. Eliot was familiar with damage, and wasn’t too concerned since he usually healed quickly. This time, though, it was taking longer than he wanted it to. A week later and he still had a bit of a limp.

He was cooking in Nate’s kitchen, which, really, it was the headquarters’ kitchen and had been for a while now. What else would he do when Nate and Sophie were downstairs in the pub meeting a client? Parker was sitting on the briefing counter, picking her way through a box of locks, and Hardison was tinkering with some sort of electronic device on a workbench that he’d set up.

Eliot felt… content. Even though his knee still ached a bit. It would probably be only one or two more days before he could return to all of his normal routines. He gave the roux sauce a stir and decided that it was time to add the cheese. Parker still had the tastes of a small child--sugary cereal, junk food, chocolate. The least he could do is make her healthier versions.

When Eliot was assembling the mac and cheese, Hardison came over and parked himself on one of the stools at the kitchen counter.

“Okay, man, it’s time you expanded your horizons some more,” Hardison told him. The hacker set down a small laptop and mouse on the counter in front of the stool next to him. “I have here, your very own laptop, designed by me.”

Eliot wiped off his hands on a towel and frowned at Hardison. Yeah, the hacker had been teaching him some stuff in exchange for the boxing lessons, but really, what did he need with a custom laptop?

“Now, don’t give me that glare; you know it don’t scare me. I’m pretty sure that I’ve got a handle on how you think by now, so I’ve made the laptop interface one I hope you’ll find intuitive rather than frustrating. And I can tweak the programming as needed.”

“My old computer works just fine, you know.” Eliot protested.

“And this one will work better. Come on, it’s not like you’re in any shape for something more strenuous right now.”

Eliot glared harder. Hardison just made a face at him in return. Sometimes, Eliot missed when Hardison had been more wary of him. Not often, but sometimes.

Huffing, Eliot slung the towel to drape over his shoulder and took the seat next to Hardison. The laptop in front of him was small--highly portable, and Eliot assumed, very powerful. Unfortunately, the keyboard was probably also very small, which was a frequent source of frustration for Eliot.

Hardison bumped shoulders with him. “Go on.”

Eliot tuned out Hardison’s voice as he started listing off the computer’s speeds, storage capacity, and other specifications that didn’t mean a damn thing to anyone on the team who wasn’t Hardison. Instead he opened the laptop and examined it. It felt sturdier than he expected, and the keys were a normal size instead of miniaturized. There had been some sacrifices in the size of the trackpad, but Eliot was alright with that.

When Hardison poked him in the shoulder, Eliot turned to look at him.

“You aren’t even listening. How’re you going to learn this if you don’t listen?” Hardison was giving him a very dirty look. It made Eliot want to laugh.

“Fine,” the hacker grumbled. “I’ll use small words. First thing you’re going to do is turn it on. Can you find the power button?”

“Dammit, Hardison! What kinda question is that?” Eliot growled at his friend and turned back to the laptop. And realized that there was no clear button with the little circle and line symbol in it. Shit.

“It’s on the right side toward the back.” Hardison’s voice held barely suppressed amusement.

Grunting, Eliot found the button and pushed it. This was going to be a long, long afternoon.

**4.**

Eliot tiredly pushed open the door from the pub into the Leverage headquarters. He didn’t know why he was here; he knew he didn’t want to talk to anyone yet. He still had his own apartment, even though he didn’t spend much time there these days. It would have been just as easy to drive there from Oklahoma as here.

Checking that he’d closed and locked the door, Eliot turned toward the stairs that led up to the apartment and froze. Hardison sat there, long legs bent so that his chin could rest on his knees. It looked uncomfortable. Vulnerable. Eliot just stood there and looked at him; he didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how long Hardison had been waiting there. Why he was waiting there.

Hardison’s eyes were in shadow. The hacker hadn’t turned on any lights, so there was only the glow that came through the windows from the streetlamps outside. Without being able to see Hardison’s expression, Eliot was at a disadvantage for knowing what the other man was feeling.

Slowly, Hardison unfolded himself, but stayed standing there on the stairs. “I tracked your phone.”

So, Hardison knew that Eliot hadn’t stayed at the house long. There hadn’t been any point; his father would have continued to pretend that Eliot wasn’t standing outside.

“You alright?” Hardison asked.

He still hadn’t come closer. Eliot wished he would.

“Come on upstairs. There’s a fresh meal from the pub; beer’s in the fridge. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Eliot followed Hardison up the stairs. Before they even reached the landing, Eliot reached forward and grabbed Hardison’s arm, halting his upward climb.

When the hacker turned to face him, Eliot realized that the stairs accentuated their height difference. Keeping his hand on Hardison’s arm, he maneuvered them so that he was one step above the hacker. The single stair made it so that they were almost the same height for once. Eliot slid his hand up Hardison’s arm so that he could grasp the back of the hacker’s neck and pull him closer. Eliot tucked his face in the side of Hardison's neck. “Thank you.”

Hardison wrapped his arms around Eliot and hugged him back, and suddenly it felt like Eliot could breathe again. That for the first time since driving away-- _again_ \--he could breathe deeply.

A weight dropped down on Eliot’s shoulders and back, wrapping itself around him and Hardison. Eliot almost tumbled down the stairs at the surprise, and the sudden shift in his center of gravity. He knew who it was, though, so he wrapped his arms around her thighs and leaned harder into Hardison to stabilize his balance. The fact that Hardison didn’t budge an inch at the jostling, and had easily shifted his arms to hold both of them meant that he had known that Parker must have been waiting on a beam above them.

Lifting his head from Hardison’s neck, Eliot glared at the man from close range. “Dammit, Hardison. A little warning next time?”

Hardison raised his eyebrow and smiled slightly. “Shouldn’t that be ‘Dammit, Parker’?”

“No. You knew and you didn’t warn me. What if we’d all fallen down the stairs and someone broke something?” Eliot demanded. This was easy to be frustrated about. A surrogate for releasing the knots that had been winding up inside his chest throughout their last job.

“That’s not what you needed.” Parker told him, insinuating her legs between Eliot and Hardison so that they were tightly cinched above the hitter’s hips. Her weight stayed warm and close against his back, and Eliot was banded between them by Hardison’s arms.

Eliot let the argument drop, knowing that she was right. They stayed there for a moment longer, until Parker began to fidget. The hacker let them go, and Eliot gave her a piggyback ride up the remainder of the stairs and into the apartment, Hardison following close behind.

**5.**

“Eliot?”

The hitter froze and stared at the cell phone sitting in front of him on the counter. He was helping with food prep in the pub’s kitchen and had asked Amy to answer it on speaker because his hands were covered in egg, flour, and breadcrumbs from prepping chicken to fry the next day. Now Eliot wished he hadn’t because he could see the same stiffness in Amy’s posture. Parker was upset. Even though they all trusted Amy, it was hard to let his team be vulnerable in front of anyone.

Eliot jerked his head for Amy to bring the phone with her and moved to the sink so he could wash his hands. The chicken would have to wait.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Can… can you come upstairs?”

Eliot hated this. He could hear that Parker was trying to be calm and barely holding it together.

“I’m washing my hands now; I’ll be right up.”

“Grab the first aid kit.” Parker’s voice sounded firmer that time, but the implications made Eliot’s heart stutter.

She hung up before Eliot could ask what had happened.

Amy set the phone down next to him and grabbed the first aid kit from under another counter in the kitchen. By the time Eliot had his hands dry, she was holding it out to him.

“Go. I’ll clean up.”

The woman was worth her weight in gold. Parker liked her, she worked well with Hardison, and she wasn’t scared of Eliot. 

“Thanks.” Eliot took the first aid kit from her with one hand, stuffed his cellphone in a pocket with the other and ran for the back room.

Eliot could hear them before he could see them, and felt some of his tension ease. No one was dead. No one was unconscious. 

“It’ll be fine, babe. It’s not that deep,” Hardison’s voice came from the direction of the dining area off the kitchen. Even as the man tried to sound reassuring, Eliot could hear that there was pain underneath.

Eliot found them sitting at the dining room table. Hardison was slumped in one of the chairs, continuing to try to reassure Parker, even as he looked up to meet Eliot’s gaze. There was pain there.

Parker was sitting on the table, holding a bloody towel wrapped around Hardison’s hand in her lap. She also looked to Eliot, her face pale, her mouth drawn into a thin line.

Business. Wound first. That was enough blood that Eliot knew it wasn’t a small cut.

“Dammit, Hardison. What did you do?” he asked, pulling another chair around so that he could sit knee to knee facing Hardison. Taking the hacker’s wrapped hand from Parker, Eliot gently unwrapped it so that he could look.

“I was washing the dishes, didn’t know one of the tumblers had broken. Cut my hand when I grabbed it,” Hardison explained, voice tense.

“You were washing dishes?” Eliot’s disbelieving tone was unchecked. Both his partners were disasters, and he’d despaired of them ever picking up after themselves.

“I do know how, you know,” Hardison grumbled. “How bad?”

Eliot examined the hand cradled between his own. There was a gash across the palm of Hardison’s left hand, cutting deeply just below the thumb. Patting away the blood which continued to ooze from the wound, Eliot thought that Hardison had probably gotten lucky and not damaged any tendons.

“It’ll need stitches, and you’ll have to restrict use of this hand for a while,” Eliot told him. “We could take you to the doctor, or I can do it.”

Hardison studied at him for a moment, and then nodded. “You do it,” Hardison decided.

Eliot did not enjoy the next half hour. Parker helped him get everything ready, not saying a word. When Eliot started putting in the sutures, Parker wrapped herself around Hardison from behind and the hacker pressed his face against her arm. Hardison grunted once and then didn’t make another sound.

While he worked, Eliot counted Hardison’s breaths. The hacker was keeping them even and slow. Good. Smart. Stitches completed, Eliot cleaned them both up and then cupped the side of Hardison’s neck, waiting until the hacker met his eyes.. “You did good.” He caught Parker’s gaze, “So did you, darlin.’ How you holdin’ up?”

Parker’s smile was a little wan, but her posture had relaxed so that she was draped over Hardison instead of wrapped around him. “Your stitches are neater than mine,” she told him. 

Eliot chuckled, knowing what Parker wasn’t saying. She was fine now; she hadn’t had to put a needle in Hardison, and it hadn’t been bad enough to force the hacker to go to a hospital. Eliot and Parker, they had been through tough times, and Hardison, even though he also had rough edges, was more vulnerable; it made seeing their hacker hurting harder than any hits they themselves took. Eliot knew Hardison would disagree.

Watching his partners for a moment, Eliot knew that Hardison was too wrung out to break the tension that had seeped into the room. “Pain meds for you, Alec. And no gaming for at least a week.”

Hardison jerked upright at that and then swayed a bit. “No gaming? You gotta be kidding me, man!”

“Nope. Told you you have to take it easy with that hand for a bit. You can take drugs, and then your choice is crashing on the couch for a bit or heading to bed. I have to clean up the mess you left me in the kitchen.” Eliot stood up and started collecting everything that needed to be washed or thrown out before heading into the kitchen. There was, as expected, a mess. Lots to clean, and he needed to remember to call Amy to thank her and let her know that Hardison was alright.

With his back turned, Eliot let himself smile as he heard Hardison sputter and mutter to himself on his way to the living room.

**+1**

The pub was packed, made worse because they’d moved out three tables to make room for a small stage. Hardison had finally convinced him that having live music in the pub twice a month would be good for business.

“Besides,” the hacker had said, “I know you miss it. You think I don’t know your browsing history?”

Eliot had grumbled, but he did agree with Hardison. It was hard for young artists to get a start, and if they played in the pub, the team would treat them fairly. And while he was thinking of it, he and Hardison should talk about adding a one wall gallery for artists like Amy...

This was their third month of doing events like this, and the reception had been fantastic. The staff seemed to enjoy it--Amy had been able to show some of her work, and a couple other members of the staff had participated in their open-mic nights. And the customers enjoyed it too. Hardison said that the pub had more regulars now than they’d had before.

But still, this was busier than usual for these music nights. Eliot looked out from the kitchen during a rare moment when he wasn’t busting ass keeping everything in line. He didn’t have to be in the kitchen, but it was reassuring, and a good thing to do every few days. Kept the cooks on their toes.

Amy caught him, and tilted her head toward the bar, “Parker and Hardison were looking for you earlier. Said you wouldn’t want to miss the show tonight.”

Eliot frowned. “They know I’m in the kitchen tonight.”

Amy shrugged. “I’m not getting in the middle, just said I’d deliver the message. They’re keeping a stool open for you at the bar.”

“Thanks,” Eliot grunted. Hardison had been trying to figure out exactly what Eliot’s musical taste was, but considering that Hardison liked electronica or whatever, and Eliot liked more traditional country-rock music, that hadn’t been going so well. Eliot hoped that tonight’s performer could at least sing in tune.

Eliot went back to prepping plates and making sure all the orders were going together correctly. As he worked, he admitted to himself that perhaps he was being a little harsh about their performers. Most of them could sing and play the instruments that they claimed to. It was the open mic nights that were a bit more of a wild card. Thankfully Hardison had limited it to two numbers per person. But tonight was one session featuring a group whose name he didn’t recognize.

He could only partially hear the music from the kitchen when the session started. Man’s voice, a clear baritone, with guitar… no, two guitars, and now a woman’s clear voice singing harmony. Eliot approved.

It was when the woman started singing solo that Eliot froze. He knew that voice.

Barking at the kitchen staff that he was taking a break, Eliot took off his apron and stalked out of the kitchen and over to the bar. Joining Hardison and Parker, he crossed his arms and stared at the stage. It was Kaye Lynn Gold. She looked great--happy, relaxed, completely confident. She was wearing a loose lace top over jeans and cowboy boots, and had added some red highlights to her hair. Beside her on the stage was a man, about her age, playing guitar while she sang. He must be the baritone. And completely smitten with Kaye Lynn, if his expression was anything to go by.

“I thought the group playing tonight was 12 String Harmonies?” Eliot demanded, not even turning to look at Hardison beside him.

“Yeah, man, Kaye Lynn joined up with Sean Wagner a year or two ago, and they hit it off personally and professionally. Started a band together. Her brother, Shane, is their manager. His hands never did recover well enough for him to play professionally again. Occasionally, he sings with them, though,” Hardison added.

“I knew she’d make it, but what is she doing here, Hardison?”

“I asked her to come. Saw her band would be in the area, thought it would be good to check in.”

Eliot shot Hardison a glare, and then checked in with Parker, who looked incredibly smug. “You knew, too?”

Parker nodded, her smug expression melting into a stunning smile.

Kaye Lynn’s voice interrupted before Eliot could ask his next question. “Thank y’all for your kind welcome. I know this isn’t where we usually play, but a few friends of mine are here tonight. Without them, I would never have made it in this business, and never met Sean. One of these friends has a pretty good voice. Eliot, how ‘bout you come up here and sing with me for old time’s sake?”

Eliot could feel his cheeks redden. Well, shit. There was no way out of this. He looked at Hardison and Parker, only to find that Parker was holding his guitar out to him. They must have had it tucked between their stools.

Parker shrugged. “Your guitar was just sitting there; I prefer listening to you play.”

“Get up there, man,” Hardison gave him a slight shove with a hand.

“Hardison…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Dammit Hardison.”

Eliot just shook his head and made his way toward the stage. Self consciously, he reached up and pulled off the bandana that he’d been wearing to work in the kitchen.

Sean stepped down from the stage and shook his hand. “Heard a lot about you; I look forward to talking afterward.”

Eliot took a seat and started tuning up the guitar. Kaye Lynn continued the chatter.

“Eliot and I met a few years ago when I was in a spot of trouble. We never did get to perform together back then, did we?”

“Nope,” Eliot agreed. Damn, but he was nervous. He met Kaye Lynn’s eyes, and realized that she was trying not to laugh at him.

“But you did sing one of my songs, remember this one?” She asked as she started playing the opening tune to the song he’d pretended to have written.

“Yes, I do, Kaye Lynn,” he told her, finally smiling. The song was one that he usually ended up playing when he was warming up his fingers.

“How ‘bout we sing it for these wonderful people?”

Eliot looked out into the crowd, and found Hardison and Parker. “I’d like that.”

Thankfully, Kaye Lynn released Eliot back into the crowd after the one song, and he was able to make his way back toward the bar.

On his way toward Parker and Hardison, Amy crossed his path.

The young woman smiled at him and raised an eyebrow, “I think you’ve been hiding things again, Mr. Spencer.”

He snorted. Amy knew more about what they did than anyone else who worked in the pub.

“You should play more often,” she added as she moved off to deliver the drinks she was carrying.

“Yeah, you should,” Hardison agreed when Eliot reached them. Apparently both his partners had heard what Amy had said.

“Maybe,” Eliot hedged, taking the stool between Parker and Hardison.

“I like it when you play,” Parker told him simply.

“Thanks, darlin.’” He leaned over and kissed her on the nose. Brief, private, necessary. “I’ll remember that.”

“Not too angry with us, then?” Hardison checked.

Eliot studied the hacker, who knew that there was a world of difference between playing music in the safety of their apartment and playing in front of a crowd.

It had been worth it to watch them both from the stage while he played.

“No,” Eliot finally said. “Not angry at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually active on Tumblr these days; feel free to stop by for a visit at [buriedbybooks](https://buriedbybooks.tumblr.com/)!


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